


Curiosity and the Cat

by SpindleKitten



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, HP: EWE, Marauders, Marauders' Era, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2018-12-15 01:19:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11795442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpindleKitten/pseuds/SpindleKitten
Summary: While enjoying the summer sun, shortly after graduating from Hogwarts, Hermione allows her curiosity to get the better of her when she encounters a mysterious source of magic. She is thrown back twenty years and decides to seek help from the one person who she believes won't force her to sit on the sidelines and watch as the mistakes of the past repeat themselves.Temporary Haitus. I will try and get back into writing before the end of the year.





	1. The Curious Puddle

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer - I don't own Harry Potter

High in the branches of an old oak tree sat a large cat, basking in the warmth of the early summer sunshine. The dappled light filtered through the canopy, highlighting the different shades of brown in its tabby coat. In the distance was the faint murmur of passing traffic. Cocooned beneath the oak tree’s canopy the cat chose to focus on the more immediate sounds. A blackbird singing to its mate. The faintest rustle of the leaves in the almost-still air. Insects buzzing.

Suddenly alert, closed eyes cracking to focused slits, its tail flicking and ears twitching - something caught its attention. Rising cautiously from the branch, creeping down the tree with silent motions and stalking over roots, the cat searched to discover the source of the disturbance. Something was different. Something wasn't meant to be. Something was causing an unfamiliar tickle in its whiskers. Magic.

Not far from the base of the tree, a shallow puddle shimmered strangely. The cat crept towards it. The tingling in its whiskers grew stronger and it sneezed. It was an oddly clear puddle. There was no sense of danger, just the overwhelming feeling of _something curious_. Eyes narrowed in a decidedly un-catlike manner, it stretched one paw out towards the water. A single claw dipped in. With a splash, Hermione Granger landed in a puddle not far from the base of an oak tree.

The young witch groaned. “What in Merlin’s name?”

She looked around warily. There weren't many things that could knock an animagus back into human form. None of them were inherently friendly. She stood up to examine the puddle that seemed to have caused her transformation. It was murky with disturbed mud and utterly unremarkable. There was no longer any sense of magic around it. She flicked her wand from it’s holster and cast a series of diagnostic charms. Nothing. It was just a puddle. There didn't even seem to be any spell residue that could explain the odd shimmer that had so intrigued her when in cat form. Just to be sure, she transformed again into the bushy brown tabby. No strange shimmer or sparkle to be found. No tingling whiskers. No magical residue. There was, however, something wrong with the tree. To her human eyes, it had looked the same but the cat looked at the world a little differently. She couldn't find the branch she had been sunning herself on. Something was definitely wrong.

Her first thought was to return home to Grimmauld Place and search the library for anything it contained about odd puddles and disappearing tree branches. Harry might have an idea. Maybe there was something he learned in Auror training that she had never come across. Although explaining to him that she saw a strange, obviously magical puddle and couldn't restrain her cat form’s curiosity enough to scan it with her wand before touching it would be embarrassing. At least it didn't hurt her, only knocked her human. Still, she was going to be laughed at for _months_ …

Turning sharply on her heel, she apparated onto the top step of Number 12 – and bounced straight off the wards. Landing in a heap on the other side of the square Hermione suddenly understood that something a lot worse that a disappearing tree branch had occurred when she touched the puddle. Harry would **never** key her out of the wards.

Shortly after the end of the war, Hermione had travelled to Australia to find her parents and, hopefully, undo the memory charms that she had used to make them leave in the first place. Unfortunately, she soon discovered that she was too late. Just a month previously her parents had been travelling to Sydney on business when they were involved in an horrific car crash. Her father had died instantly, though her mother had clung to life for a few more days before finally succumbing to her injuries. Hermione returned to England, devastated, and Harry had immediately claimed her as his unofficially adopted sister and insisted that she come and live with him in the house he inherited from his godfather. They had lived together ever since - although she had spent most of the previous year at Hogwarts, finally taking her seventh year classes, while Harry was accepted straight into Auror training. Defeating a Dark Lord had some perks, after all.

Something was _seriously_ wrong if the wards at Grimmauld Place didn't recognise her.

Turning on her heel again, Hermione apparated once more. This time, she appeared in an alley not far from the muggle entrance to The Leaky Cauldron. Despite her gut telling her that something really bad was happening, she refused to panic. Since she couldn't get home to Harry, she headed straight to her other best friend.

Ron hadn't lasted two months in Auror training. Despite turning over a new leaf and losing his lazy attitude to studying, the trauma of war left him unable to cope with the heavy course load while still mourning the loss of a brother. Instead, he moved in with George above Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes and was proving to be an asset to the business in ways that none of the family could have predicted.

Her failed apparition to Grimmauld Place had made her cautious, however. Hermione chose not to use her family pass and apparate directly into the WWW staff room. She would go through Diagon Alley and enter the shop like everybody else. Entering from muggle London would give her a few extra minutes to straighten everything out in her head and figure out what she would say to Ron. George might be a better help, he knew all sorts of obscure magic – hopefully he was in a good frame of mind today and would be willing to talk.

As she walked the handful of streets towards the _Cauldron_ , a part of her mind noted the almost unnatural lack of traffic on the roads but dismissed it as irrelevant. There was probably some roadworks further up keeping the traffic at bay. With a confident stride that in no way conveyed how she was feeling at that moment, she pushed open the door to the Leaky Cauldron and everything within her began screaming at the _wrongness_ of the pub, despite there being nothing other than the usual hustle and bustle of a late afternoon in summer.

Almost immediately, Hermione had noticed the odd presence of Tom the barman. The toothless old man had retired after the war, but perhaps he was helping Hannah out for the day. It had happened a few times when she had to visit the midwife at St Mungos. Poor Hannah had been captured by Death Eaters and when she was finally tracked down and released months after the final battle they found her with more than a few scars and a baby in her belly. She wouldn’t, or couldn’t, tell them who the father was. There were several low ranking Death Eaters and Snatchers that had been hiding out in the old house where Hannah and a couple of Muggle girls had been kept, but others had _visited_ during the war. Hannah had bravely accepted her ‘little miracle’ and refused to even consider _other options_ , though she mourned the loss of her final year at Hogwarts. With incredible resilience, she had used the rather large sum of galleons awarded to those who had been personally tortured by Death Eaters to buy the _Cauldron_ with plans to remodel it in a style much closer to The Three Broomsticks. Hermione had used her own compensation to help fund a home for war orphans.

A closer look at the pub made the sinking feeling in Hermione’s stomach increase exponentially. All of Hannah’s recent improvements to the décor were gone. She couldn’t believe it had taken so long to notice, but she had only been through the pub a couple of times since the more drastic changes began and the sight of Tom at the bar again had distracted her. Looking once more at the old landlord, her eyes drifted to the man he was serving and the panic was back at full force. The truth she had unconsciously known since her arrival in muggle London was now jumping out at her, shouting down a megaphone and waving flags in her face.

Sat with his back to the wall at the end of the bar, two beady eyes fixed on her with a cautious stare, was a very much alive Alastor Moody.


	2. A Much Needed Ally

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

_Sat with his back to the wall at the end of the bar, two beady eyes fixed on her with a cautious stare, was a very much alive Alastor Moody._

If she hadn't had to learn how to detach herself from debilitating emotions in times of danger, Hermione would probably have had a panic attack upon seeing her long-dead comrade sitting alive and without the false eye that gave him the nickname she knew him by. This wasn't Mad Eye. It couldn't be – apart from having two normal eyes, he possessed a good deal more nose than she remembered. And yet, there was no mistaking the peg leg and scarred face as belonging to anyone _but_ her old mentor.

Hermione wasn't stupid. There was a simple explanation for how she was seeing an obviously younger version of a man who she knew to be dead. An explanation that scared her more than Voldemort himself. Desperate to prove herself wrong, she glanced around the nearly-empty bar and quickly spotted what she needed. A copy of the _Daily Prophet_ lay abandoned on a nearby table. Darting across the room, she scooped up the newspaper and had her worst fear confirmed. The date at the top of the paper was 21st June 1979.

She could feel the blood draining from her face, leaving her light headed and slightly woozy. She shook her head, forcing back the panic that was threatening to overwhelm the tight control she had over her emotions. Taking a deep breath, Hermione walked up to the bar. She fished a galleon out of her pocket and ordered herself a butterbeer. Pocketing the change, she sipped the comfortingly sweet drink. She needed a plan. It now seemed obvious that she had somehow time travelled. She was stuck 20 years in the past, with no money or qualifications to her name. In reality, she didn't even have an identity in this time. And nothing made magical people more suspicious than someone appearing out of nowhere, with no proof of who they are. Especially in times of war.

The obvious solution would be to seek out Dumbledore. He would be alive again, now. In fact, had this mishap occurred at any point before the end of her fifth year, she would already be walking up the path to Hogwarts with the sure knowledge that the headmaster wild fix it all for her. Her experiences over the course of her sixth year and time on the run with Harry had disabused her of that naïve, unfailing loyalty in Dumbledore. She still respected him, but he held too much information too close to his chest. His propensity for secrets caused almost as many casualties as some of the nastier Death Eaters.

There were days that she was honestly surprised they had managed to win the war with the scant knowledge he had seen fit to share. No, now Hermione feared that going to the headmaster would either get her obliviated or _persuaded_ to play a far more significant role in the coming war than she was comfortable with. She knew he had used unbreakable vows in the past, and wouldn’t put it past him forcing her into a _vow_ of secrecy and making her watch, impotently, as the same mistakes were made again. No. If Hermione had her way, Dumbledore would never know where she came from.

This decision left her in a quandary. She needed help to find a place in this time. She needed someone in the Order to trust her. If there was no way back to her time, Hermione wouldn't stand by and watch good people die if she could prevent it. Hell, even if there _was_ a way back, she didn’t think it possible to sit on the sidelines and watch everything go to hell again when she knew that she could help.

Hermione felt the burn of suspicious eyes on her neck. Looking up, she found her solution. It was dangerous to chose him – if he didn't believe her she would have no hope of befriending anyone in the Order. Realistically, if he didn’t believe her she would, be imprisoned by the Order for the duration of the war. Or dead. On the other hand, he was paranoid enough that she might just convince him not to share her true identity with the leader of the Order. That was enough to make her mind up. Putting down her empty bottle, Hermione gathered her Gryffindor courage and approached Alastor Moody.

“Auror Moody?”

“That's me,” he grunted. “What do you want, girl?”

“If I may?” Hermione slowly withdrew her wand from the holster on her thigh. Moody watched her suspiciously as she waved it in a circle over their heads, casting “Muffliato” aloud. She was thankful that the spell only needed her to point her wand in the air above them, though she would have worked around the lack of privacy if it didn’t. There was no way she would have dared to point her wand at the paranoid Auror. She doubted it would have even been safe to do so outside of a practice duel when the man knew her as a dedicated Order member, as opposed to the not-so-old man with beady eyes narrowed warily at her.

“What was that, girl?” His words were clipped, his tone low and threatening.

Hermione made a show of sheathing her wand and laying her empty hands on he bar between them. Her reply was calm and respectful. “Just a muffling spell. It allows us to hold a reasonably private conversation in a crowded space by creating a buzzing sound in the ears of anyone who might overhear us.”

She could sense the approval in his eyes. Being openly unarmed and using the verbal incantation (therefore allowing him to learn the spell) had earned a little of his respect, though not his trust. It didn’t make his response any less terse. “Useful. Now explain why we need it.”

Hermione hesitated a moment. “I know that from the moment I entered this bar you have had your wand pointed at me. Something about me is making you nervous and I can tell you what that is, but not here. For the moment all I can say is that I find myself in a very sensitive situation and am in need of help. You are the first person I could think of that I can trust with the details and I hope that after a proper explanation you will be willing to trust me, too.”

Auror Moody narrowed his eyes further and gave her a disdainful look. “And I suppose you would be willing to take me to a private location for a little chat so you can tell me all your secrets?”

Hermione smiled and shook her head. “I could, but I think you would be more comfortable controlling the venue. I am not your enemy, Ma- Mr Moody. You are welcome to take me to the middle of the woods and search me for tracking charms if that will make you happy. I am not planning an ambush – I may have been in Gryffindor, but I am not foolish enough to take you on alone.”

The old Auror barked a laugh at that. “I'd check you for tracking charms before ever leaving this pub with you, lass! Gryffindor or no, I trust nobody for a few sweet words. What proof have you got that I'm not walking into a trap?”

Hermione took a deep breath. She had nothing with her but her wand and the clothes on her back. Handing him her wand might help, but she doubted it would be enough to convince a paranoid man who regularly carried no less than three back-up wands. Thinking quickly, Hermione undid the cuffs of her blouse and began rolling up the sleeves. “The only proof I can show that I am not a Death Eater is that I bear no mark on my left arm. The mark I bear on the right may convince you that we, at the very least, share an enemy.”

As she spoke, she turned her bare forearms to him. The word mudblood stood out, the ugly scar an angry red against milky white flesh. She knew Moody would recognise the cursed wound for what it was – made by dark magic and impossible to fake. She doubted any Voldemort supporter would go that far in an attempt to deceive a single light wizard. Even one as powerful as Alastor Moody.

“Alright, girl. You got no trackers, we can leave.” And with no more notice than that, he grabbed her by her unblemished left arm and apparated them out of the Leaky Cauldron. They stopped three times, but Hermione had no chance to get her bearings before she was pulled into the next apparition. Finally, with her stomach protesting heavily, they arrived in a small room.

It was barely furnished - just two chairs and a small table. The shackles attached to the rickety chair on the opposite side of the room from the table and second chair led Hermione to believe that this was a place Moody would bring prisoners for interrogation. Cautiously, she sat. When the shackles failed to restrain her, she breathed a sigh of relief. He trusted her enough to leave her unchained, at least.

“I suppose I should start at the beginning. Or at least, my beginning. It might not make sense to you at first, but I would appreciate it if you kept your questions for when I've finished. You see, I first met you – or at least a man who appeared to be you – at the beginning of my fourth year at Hogwarts. Mad Eye Moody was to be our defence teacher that year, though you were really kept in a trunk while an escaped Death Eater impersonated you. We properly met the summer before my fifth year when I was staying at the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. We were never very close, but you enjoyed telling me about useful spells and we had the odd practice duel whenever Molly wasn't around to scold you for doing so.

“You were killed in the summer before my seventh year. It was a horrible mess, that summer. That was the year I went on the run, on a treasure quest necessary to defeat Vol- er.. Riddle. That was the year I got this.” She waved her scarred arm absently. “But we escaped and it led us to… well, it helped us end the war at last.”

Hermione paused in her monologue and sighed. She added in an almost wistful tone: “I was enjoying peacetime. I went back to school after the war, finally having nothing more stressful to focus on than my NEWTs. It gave me the time to work on some personal projects, and I achieved my animagus form in early Spring. That is what led to this mess, of course. I had not long graduated and was enjoying the sun in cat form when I noticed this odd puddle. I can't really explain it, it looked normal and yet there was this odd shimmery quality to it. When I touched it, I was forced back into my human form and nothing seemed different. I transformed again and my cat eyes didn't recognise the tree branch I had been in that morning, which I thought odd. I tried to go home, but was bounced off the wards...

"That really got me worried, and I headed straight to Diagon Alley to see my friends who work there in the hope that they would help me figure out what was wrong. That was when I came into the Cauldron and saw you. Then I knew what had happened, because even if you had survived the war you are too young and… whole… the _Prophet_ confirmed it for me. I have fallen twenty years back in time, just under three months before I am due to be born. It shouldn't be possible, but I am here. And I need your help.”


	3. The Houseguest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
> 
> A/N - Thank you to all the lovely people that have left Reviews and Kudos for this fic.

Moody looked at her for a long time, saying nothing. Eventually he leaned right into her personal space and shouted, spittle flying in her face. “What kind of idiot are you, girl? There’s an unknown, obviously magical puddle and the _first_ thing you do is touch it? Do you have no _brains_? _Gah_! Intelligent Gryffindors make the most idiotic wizards! I thought you said I taught you things, girl! Did you never hear the phrase CONSTANT VIGILANCE?!”

____

____

The last two words of his rant were roared deafeningly loud but, despite shrinking back in her seat at his aggressive tone, once his words sunk into her brain a sense of calm settled over her body. It sounded like he believed her. She needed to know and after a few moments managed to form the words, though they were barely a whisper. “You believe me, sir?”

Moody sat back again. He ran a hand over his barely disfigured face. “Your story is unbelievable. Ridiculous. Idiotic. But you aren’t lying.”

Hermione furrowed her brows at his words. “How - ” she didn’t know how to put her thoughts into words. It seemed like she had no need; Moody continued as if she hadn’t spoken.

“I’m no Albus, but you don’t need to be a master legilimens to read body language. You’re scared, though you hide it well. You spoke of war with experience that can’t be faked. Also, your clothes don’t match any current or past muggle fashions so time travel seems the most obvious answer.”

Hermione stared, utterly flabbergasted. A part of her mind registered incredulous amazement that Moody apparently kept up with muggle fashion before dismissing it – of course he knew how muggles dressed, he was far too paranoid not to go to extreme lengths to blend in. Her focus turning back to the matter in hand, she felt nerves writhing in her belly. It should have been so much harder to convince someone as paranoid as Moody. After a few minutes the auror cracked a rather disturbing smile, leaned towards her again and winked as he said in a loud whisper “the truth wards help, too!”

She couldn’t help it. Hermione burst into hysterical giggles. Younger Moody apparently had a sense of humour. She wasn’t surprised in the slightest that he had truth wards on his interrogation shack. It was such a ridiculously paranoid measure to take. Most people avoided such wards as they were a form of old ritual magic and as such highly illegal and classified as Dark by the ministry – though that was probably just to ensure they weren’t used on the courtrooms. Merlin forbid any of the wealthy Purebloods be compelled to confess to a crime when a few bags of galleons would get them declared innocent – often despite being caught red-handed.

Minutes passed before she could get control over herself again. Once she had finally calmed down a little, Moody handed her a cup of tea. She hadn’t even noticed him make it. After a few sips, her eyes began to feel heavy and she knew no more.

~.~.~.~.~

Hermione woke up in a bed. The pillows were soft under her head and the blankets were tangled around her feet. It took a few seconds for her to realise that she wasn’t in pyjamas and a couple more to figure out that the bed wasn’t the familiar mahogany four poster that occupied her room at Grimmauld Place. Panic began to settle into her bones, lessening somewhat when she found her wand still sheathed on her thigh. Then the memories of the previous afternoon returned to her and she bolted out of the bed in a fury. Moody had drugged her!

She sat up in the bed and examined her the room with a soldier’s awareness. A large window looked out over a nondescript garden bordered by trees and high hedges which obscured the view of the surrounding area. Long shadows indicated that it was either early or late in the day. There were no curtains, allowing sunlight to stream into the room. 

The room itself was almost empty. On the far wall was a door, likely a closet. A faded rag rug lay on the floor. Beside the bed was a simple, round table. It was made of light wood and two things rested on its polished surface: a brass candlestick holding what remained of a red candle, and a glass of what looked like water. There was no way Hermione was going to drink it and find out. 

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up, determined to explore her new accommodation. Mere moments after her feet touched the floor, the door creaked open and the old Auror entered the room. “Good to see you awake, lass,” he grunted at her.

“You drugged me!” She shrieked at him in a fury. “Where in Godric’s name have you taken me?”

Moody was unfazed by her volume. He looked utterly remorseless as he answered her calmly. “’’Twas just a bit of calming draught. You were getting hysterical.”

Hermione was infuriated. However she also knew how pointless it was to argue with Mad Eye (especially since she had to admit that he was right about her brief bout of hysteria) and if nothing else she needed his trust. So she should show him the same respect and trust she was asking of him. At least she had the advantage of knowing without a shadow of a doubt that the old curmudgeon was on her side in the war. He only had her word.

With a grimace, Hermione conceded with a terse nod of her head. With a vague gesture at her surroundings, Hermione asked her most pressing question. “Are we still in your lovely interrogation shack, or did you take me somewhere else after I passed out?”

At the words interrogation shack a corner of Moody’s lips quirked upwards into something that almost resembled a smile. “Shack’s no use for sleeping witches. Brought you home.”

The gruff words made Hermione feel like here eyes were about to pop out of her head. With an incredulous tone, she repeated the most shocking words she thought she had ever heard. “You brought me to your home?!”

As far as the bushy haired witch was aware, nobody had ever just been brought into Mad Eye’s home like this. The list of visitors he allowed was incredibly short, and everybody on it had proven their trustworthiness countless times. Usually over decades. “Wow,” she stuttered, “I’m honoured.”

Moody didn’t acknowledge her words. Instead he gestured towards the door. “You were only out a couple of hours. I expect you will be wanting something to eat, then we can talk about what we are going to do about this mess.”

Hermione nodded mutely and followed him out of the room.

~.~.~.~.~

After a very welcome dinner of leek stew and dumplings (and the utterly ridiculous sight of Alastor Moody dressed in a frilly, flowery apron that she absolutely refused to laugh at for fear of being slipped another calming drought) she was led into the living room and directed to take a seat on one of the two brown leather armchairs. 

Moody didn’t have a sofa – that would require sitting next to somebody – and the only other furniture in the room was a coffee table and three bookcases; two held books whilst the other one was filled with a vast array of dark detectors and magical gizmos, many of which the lifelong bookworm failed to identify.

“Well, little miss. I don’t usually bring someone home after the first date, but I think we both know you’re special.” 

The leering wink he sent her made Hermione cringe. She wasn’t sure she liked discovering the old auror’s sense of humour. She now appreciated the older Moody getting to know her first as a school girl. It must have kept this lecherous side of his personality at bay. Either that or he lost his sense of humour somewhere over the next twenty years. Perhaps along with his leg… or maybe his eye.

“Ma- Pr- err… Mr Moody, I would appreciate it if you weren’t so crude. I am truly honoured that you trust me enough to invite me into your home. I really do need your help and –” She cut herself off when he raised a knarled finger at her. Evidently he didn’t want to hear her thanks.

“Look here, lass, you already told me how you got here. What we’ve got to do now is decide what to do with you. I expect Albus will have an idea how to get you back -”

“No!” She interrupted him in a panic. “Dumbledore can’t know. There is a reason I didn’t run straight to Hogwarts when I realised what had happened to me.”

With a look and a gesture from Moody to continue, Hermione began describing in great detail the part Dumbledore had played in the Second War. She explained his secrets and drip-feeding of information and how it was more luck than judgement that allowed them their eventual, hard-won victory. “So many people died, Professor,” she finished, not noticing the slip, “and I truly believe that if the headmaster had been a little more free with his knowledge, a little more trusting of us lower mortals, that many of them might have survived. If he knew what I know, where I came from, I have no doubt that he would obliviate me or, worse, bind me to secrecy for the sake of the ‘greater good’ and I don’t think I could stand to watch all those people die again.”

When she finished, she looked up at her old mentor and was confused to see him offering her a handkerchief, a look of understanding in his eyes. Then she realised that tears were streaming down her cheeks and took the offered cloth with a small smile. When she had dried her face, she noticed that Moody was no longer in the room. He returned a few moments later, carrying a pot of tea and two cups on a tray. Both cups had already been partially filled with an amber liquid.

Moody filled the rest of the cups with tea. He handed one to her and she was comforted by the lack of pity in his expression. “No potions this time, lassie. Just some good old fashioned firewhiskey.”

She took a measured sip of the steaming beverage, the usual warming properties of the tea enhanced by the magical burn of the firewhiskey. She looked up as Moody spoke again. “I think you’re right about Albus.” 

There was something almost regretful in his tone. “I don’t doubt he’s the best person outside of the Department of Mysteries to help you get back to your own time, but I have noticed that the longer this war goes on the more he hoards information. I expect there are some deaths happening even now that could be prevented if he shared what he knows.”

Hermione smiled sadly. “I think that he has been told for so long that he is the only one knowledgeable and powerful enough help that he believes it himself. He has forgotten that even Albus Dumbledore can make mistakes.”

Moody nodded his agreement. “Well then, lass, that gives us a couple of days while the old man is busy with the end of term to get you sorted with a new identity.”

Hermione frowned. There was something about the end of summer term, 1979, that was setting off alarm bells in her memory. Something important happened… someone died. Importantly. Where would she have read about someone’s date of death? She didn’t remember anything from a textbook about this early period of the war. Likewise, the only obituaries she had searched out were from 1980 or 81. Where else would she have seen a death date? It’s not like she memorised the family trees of every Order member… Then it hit her. There was, in fact, one Order member’s family tree that she had spent a lot of time around. It still hung on the wall of 12 Grimmauld Place even now. Or, the now of twenty years in the future. The Black family tapestry. And there was a death in 1979. A very important death that had always struck her as sad, since it happened only a few days after he graduated from Hogwarts.

Adrenaline already pumping, she almost shouted. “When does term finish, Moody?”

The old auror looked at her in confusion. “Express leaves tomorrow. Do we need a guard for the train? Is there to be an attack?” 

Hermione waved a dismissive hand. “No. Well, I guess it wouldn’t hurt, but there is something much more important. I need you to get someone. Take him off the train before it leaves. Bring him here – or, not here but one of your safe houses. We need to save him.”

Alert now, Moody leaned forward in his armchair and spoke in a voice that led no doubt to his utmost seriousness. “Who do we need to save?”

Hermione prepared herself for an argument as she gave him her answer. “Regulus Black.”


	4. Saving Regulus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
> 
> I'm afraid that Mad Eye's POV has upped the rating.

Alastor Moody had just experienced the weirdest 24 hours of his life to date. He had been minding his own business, doing a bit of surveillance in the Leaky Cauldron, when in walks a little slip of a girl to turn his life upside down. Now, because of that idiotic chit who couldn’t leave well enough alone, he was playing host to said time travelling witch. A witch who wanted to _change History_. Which is why he was here, now, staking out the Merlin-be-damned Hogwarts Express to kidnap a newly graduated Death Eater.

Logically, he knew he shouldn’t be here. Time travel was restricted for a _reason_ , for Circe’s sake. Everyone in the magical world knew that bad things happen to those that meddle in time. He should have taken the little madam straight to Albus and let the interfering old fool deal with her.

And yet here he stood under his best invisibility cloak, watching the platform gate for the entrance of one Regulus Black. Because no matter how illegal it was, how _dangerous_ , he had faith in the little witch. He couldn’t explain it, but somewhere deep inside his shrivelled old heart he _knew_ that this girl would save their world. History be damned.

The train was due to leave in half an hour, which meant the students had already started to trickle down to the station. Moody hoped that the Black boy had the sense to arrive early. It was always harder to abduct someone from the middle of a pack.

As if his thoughts called his target to him, the gate swung and a group of half a dozen upper-year Slytherin students made their way onto the platform. Moody’s lip curled as they passed – these boys were all Death Eaters or as good as. The fucking Dark Lord was recruiting _children_ and there was nothing he could do about it. Trailing just behind the other boys and making no attempt to join in with their crude blood-purist remarks, was his target. Instantly recognisable by the causal arrogance with which he held himself, long black hair and aristocratic face, he was the spitting image of his brother. If Sirius ever bothered to brush his hair and dress like a wizard, at least.

The boys were now heading onto the train. Moody crept up behind them. Timing was critical. As long as the Black boy entered the carriage last, it would be easy to snatch him. Grab and portkey as he climbs onto the train and no one on the platform will notice him disappear. The rest of the Death Eating little shits were too busy debating whether it was ever okay to fuck a mudblood to notice if he didn’t follow them onto the train.

And so it went. Even better for him, Regulus paused at the train door. As the boy looked regretfully back towards the castle, Moody struck. A whispered _pertrificus totalis_ , which hit the boy almost at the same second as the auror’s hand wrapped around his bicep, while Moody’s other hand grasped the enchanted fob watch in his pocket. A sharp tug and the two where whisked away from the gathering crowd without a soul noticing. He wasn’t Master Auror Alastor Fucking Moody for nothing.

~.~.~.~.~

Hermione was waiting in what she had dubbed the _Interrogation Shack_. She was pacing nervously along the room, anxiously hoping that Mad Eye managed to complete his mission without a hitch. No. Not Mad Eye. Not yet – and maybe not ever.

She had been taken to the shack nearly two hours ago. She insisted on being there to question Regulus as soon as they had him, so she was forced to wait the entirety of the stakeout in the horrible little room. There was nothing here to entertain her. The room was deliberately empty of everything but the most minimal essentials – the chair with shackles, the one without and a rickety little table. There wasn’t a window, or even a door. So she paced the circumference of the room, sticking close to the wall because she was too nervous to sit and she really didn’t want to be in the middle of the room when the portkey appeared. Another anxious look at her watch told her that there were twenty minutes left before the _Express_ left for London.

A blue light filled the centre of the room. The portkey! If he was arriving before the train left, that should mean he has Regulus! Hermione’s heart jumped into her mouth and butterflies swarmed her intestines as she watched the old auror appear, dropping the young man in a body bind to the floor as he struggled to hold his balance. Hermione made to rush forwards and help Regulus, but Moody held up an arm and stopped her approach.

“Careful, lass. Stay back while I get him in the chair. I know what you know about him, but we don’t know how he’s going to react when the body bind is released.”

He used his ‘Auror voice’ to let her know in no uncertain terms that _he_ was going to deal with their captive for the time being. A few deft swishes of a wand relieved Regulus of his own, as well as several obviously magical items, a small purse of galleons and three chocolate frogs. She also recognised the wand movements that revealed tracking and listening spells, of which there were none. Then Moody none-too-gently strapped Regulus into the interrogation chair, securing the shackles and rolling up the boy’s sleeves. The ominous black lines of the Dark Mark stained his left forearm.

Finally, Regulus was released from the body bind and dropped down into the chair. His eyes were alight with terror when he saw in exactly _whose_ custody he found himself. Moody growled and viscously jabbed his wand, sending sparks to splash across the grotesque skull and snake. “You, boy, are a Death Eater.”

Hermione stepped forward, putting her hand on Moody’s shoulder to remind him of why they were there. “That’s enough, Moody. We’re all on the same side here.”

Regulus’ head shot up to look at her. He looked completely baffled by her presence and utterly confused by her declaration. She smiled gently down at him.

“I know you joined Riddle two years ago -” and the uncomprehending looks of the two wizards she elaborated: “Riddle. The _Dark Nutjob_ trying to take over the wizarding world. Born Tom Riddle, heir of Slytherin and son of a squib and a muggle.”

Hermione allowed a moment for both men to compose themselves after this revelation. Before either could interrupt, though, she continued her original speech.

“Regulus, I know you joined Riddle when you turned sixteen, recruited early because your _disappointment_ ” - she said the word with a highly sarcastic tone - “of an older brother told Tommy Boy to go fuck himself. I know that you have so far managed to stay mostly safe behind the wards of Hogwarts. I know that you lent your _master_ ” - she spat this word with contempt – “your House Elf, and when he returned you discovered the darkest secret of your crazy megalomaniac lord. I know you plan to retrieve the horcrux and attempt to destroy it.

“What you don’t know, is that the crazy inbred son of a bitch didn’t just make one. There are currently five of the vile objects to destroy – currently, because the psychopath believes true greatness will come to him when he achieves a **_seven part fucking soul_**.”

Hermione finally stopped her diatribe to take a breath. She clenched her shaking hands into fists. She needed to get a grip – her control was slipping as the reality of her task here in the past began to sink in. Evidenced in part by her progressively fouler tongue.

She had always stubbornly believed that swearing was for those not intelligent enough to express themselves otherwise. Harry and Ron had tried to convince her that there was some cathartic value to vulgar language but she had refused to give in. Apparently, near-hysteria and post-timetravel stress was all it took to release her foul tongue. And by Circe did it feel good.

Throughout her impassioned rant, Regulus’ expression became progressively more shocked, terrified and disgusted. Once she finished, a pervasive silence bore down on the dingy room. Looking up at the strange girl with knowledge she shouldn’t have, Regulus managed only to croak a broken “seven?” before the silence once more blanketed the shack.

Minutes passed. Eventually, Moody conjured three glasses and procured a bottle of firewhiskey from somewhere on his person. A flick of his wand and the shackles around Regulus’ right wrist were released. The three shared a look before downing the large measure amber liquid in one gulp.

Alcohol, social lubricant that it was, helped dispel the chilling silence. The three once more found their voices. “I’m sorry, Miss, but _who_ are you? _How_ do you know so much? Are you a seer?”

Hermione shook her head. “I’m no seer. I know only the past.”

“The past? You’re a _time traveller_?!”

Hermione snorted. “Well, its obvious which brother got the brains..” she muttered, half to herself, though it was obvious he heard by the amused smirk that flickered on his face. Turning her attention completely to the young man, still partially chained to the chair in front of her, she answered. “Yes, Regulus, due to an accident of magic -” Moody snorted. Hermione glared at the old auror.

“- I fell back twenty years into the past and have decided to break every law of time travel I ever learned. Even though we won,” she grimaced, “ _eventually_ , too much was lost because of Albus Dumbledore and his propensity for keeping information to himself.”

She took a calming breath. She hadn’t realised how infuriated talking about the old headmaster made her. “I don’t know if I can ever get home. Even if I didn’t change a thing, I have no idea what magic brought me here of how I might go about reversing it. _If_ I’m going to be stuck here, then I’m going to make a difference. And if I do that, the world I came from will cease to exist.

“So I’m stuck here either way. I might as well go on another fucking horcrux hunt.” She shrugged, then added with a sort-of careless acceptance. “At least I won’t be stuck in a tent that stinks of cats this time.”

Regulus took a moment to digest her story. “Twenty years? It takes _twenty years_ to end the war? You barely look older than me – was it that bad in the future that they sent teenagers to hunt horcruxes?”

Hermione smiled sadly at the look of utmost horror and despair on his face. “It stopped, for a time. The wizarding world experienced a decade of peace before it fell to shit and the Death Eaters took control of the ministry.

“When I should have been enjoying my final year at Hogwarts, I lived in a tent with two boys hunting down horcruxes with little more than the few hints and suspicions that Headmaster Dumbledore had seen fit to share before allowing himself to be murdered by his own spy… by some miracle we found them and destroyed them and Harry – **we** won. But so many were lost. So many good people. I can’t watch that happen again!”

“I died, didn’t I. I failed to get the horcrux and died for nothing.”

Hermione was once again impressed by the astute conclusions drawn by the younger wizard. “Not quite. You got the horcrux. You sent it with Kreacher to be destroyed. But you were weak and couldn’t fight off the inferi…” Hermione stopped when Regulus blanched and remembered who she was talking to. “But that’s not going to happen this time. That is why I got old Mad Eye here to kidnap you. I could only remember that you died days after graduation and didn’t want to risk missing you.”

“Who are you calling Mad Eye, lassie?” Grumbled the wizard in question.

Hermione gave an apologetic smile and teasing salute to her old mentor. “Sorry, Master Auror Moody Sir. Future nickname I shall endeavour to forget until or unless it becomes relevant.”

He scowled at her and shook his head. They all appreciated the friendly banter lightening the depressive mood.

After a moment Regulus broke the silence once more. “So, did you have a plan beyond kidnapping me?”


	5. Kreacher's Mission

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

"So, did you have a plan beyond kidnapping me?"

The sarcasm dripping from the aristocratic drawl of the younger Black brother made Hermione smile helplessly and shrug her shoulders. "Nothing detailed. Just, you know, save your life."

Regulus rolled his eyes. "Idiot Gryffindors, always charging in…"

Hermione huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "What makes you think I was in Gryffindor?"

"Please! You admitted to running around the country in a tent searching for bits of the Dark Lord's soul. That sort of obvious disregard for your life and lack of planning could _only_ be found in Godric's house."

Before the youngsters could get any further with their verbal sparring, Moody interrupted. "The plan was to get you away from the train and your Death Eater buddies and ensure that our idiotic Gryffindor was right about your allegiance. So, tell me boy, are you a loyal Death Eater? Or will you help us kill the bastard?"

Regulus eyed the old auror cautiously. He knew this was his only real chance to get out – he didn't really fancy death-by-inferi. He spoke with carefully chosen words. "Master Moody, when I realized the depths of depravity that _madman_ had reached, I lost what little loyalty I had ever felt to the cause. Our time-traveling friend is correct that I was branded on my 16th birthday, though I will not say I was entirely unwilling at the time. I thought it an honour for myself and my family.

"My first mission made me realize it was no honour. Now, I feel nothing but disgust. I would gladly see the _halfblood_ _scum_ dead."

Hermione nodded with satisfaction as Moody moved forward to shake Regulus' unbound hand. "Welcome to the team, lad."

With a smile twisting his gnarled face, he swished his wand and the remaining shackles fell slack to the floor. At Regulus' obvious confusion over his seemingly easy release, Hermione grinned and mock-whispered " _truth_ _wards_!"

Regulus nodded in understanding and slowly made to stand, rightfully wary of making any sudden moves around the infamous auror. He took Hermione's hand, bowing over it as he raised her knuckles to his lips. When he stood again, he smirked at the light blush staining her cheeks. "Might I know the name of my saviour?"

Blushing darker, she managed a mumbled "Hermione"

Regulus seemed to be enjoying her embarrassment, for he continued in his most charming tone. "A fitting name, for truly your mother must have been the most beautiful woman in the world to have borne a daughter so stunning!"

Hermione achieved a shade of red that was usually reserved for Ron. Despite (or perhaps because of) spending all her time with two boys, she had never been so thoroughly charmed. Moody apparently took pity on her, for at that moment he thrust the firewhisky bottle between the younger two.

"Portkey," he grunted, "we need to make a plan."

Nodding, Hermione retrieved her hand and placed it on the bottle. A sharp tug behind her navel had the dismal shack disappearing in a swirl. They landed steadily in a much larger room, soft carpet on the floor and two pairs of overstuffed armchairs surrounding a large coffee table.

Moody indicated that they take a seat, and suddenly the teasing atmosphere that had developed between them in the shack vanished. They all felt the seriousness of the situation settle around them – they had formed a team to destroy the Dark Lord and now they had to get down to business.

Moody leaned towards his young comrades and got straight to the point. "Express gets into London in four hours. We have that long to work out what to do about you, lad. Best for all if they think you dead, but if we could make them think someone on their side did it, all the better."

Regulus nodded. "I thought as much. Hermione, what happened last time?"

"You went with Kreacher to get the horcrux and vanished. Your mum saw the tapestry and knew you were dead. Both sides blamed the other. That's all I know, really."

"Shit. The tapestry. We can't fake my death unless we can figure out how to trick it. Bugger. I'll have to go on the run, instead."

Moody added his two knuts. "Family tapestry? Tricky things. I might have a book on them somewhere. Meantime, running isn't a bad option. Can you send a message that you have learned something you shouldn't and had to go into hiding?"

"I don't know. Not to my parents, they would insist I was safe at the manor. My brother would just gloat and say I deserved it."

Hermione scowled at his opinion but held her tongue. She remembered how devastated Sirius had been over the death of his brother when he had believed him to have run scared. She knew that Sirius would help him in a heartbeat, but that wasn't what they needed right now.

"I wonder -" began Regulus again. "Maybe I should send a note to my cousin. That husband of hers has dragged her in deep enough that she will understand the danger I might be in if I upset the wrong person… I think that would be best. She always was my favourite cousin, so it wouldn't seem odd that I wrote to her…"

"Who's your cousin, lad?"

"Narcissa Malfoy."

Hermione's face lit up. "That would be perfect. She defected to save her son, so we can at least trust her with a note. How would you send it, though? Owls can be traced."

Regulus looked thoughtful for a moment before resuming his 'arrogant pureblood' expression. "I shall send my elf, of course."

The gears of her mind were very obviously turning at a ferocious speed, conducting a new and outrageous plan. "Yes, we can use Kreacher!" Declared the muggleborn time traveller.

Regulus looked at her, intrigued. "You know my elf?"

Hermione shuddered. "Unfortunately. He's a rather unpleasant, bigoted little thing isn't he? But he's loyal to you – even twenty years after your death. I think he can be entrusted with this mission."

"Delivering a message to my cousin is hardly a mission."

"No, but it gives him access to Malfoy Manor. I am right in thinking that he is permitted to be within the manor? At least where it comes to delivering messages to the Lady of the manor? And that once he is there then he can enter any part of the building?”

Regulus thought for a moment, struggling to understand what she was getting at. “I would think so. Unless they have spelled an area to keep out elves, which is unlikely as I can't imagine Lucius cleaning anything himself. Why?”

“I am fairly certain another horcrux is hidden there. His mission will be to swap it for a fake so that we can destroy it."

Moody spluttered in disbelief. "You would trust an elf – one that is bound to the Black family at that – to retrieve a piece of the Dark Wanker's soul?"

Hermione shrugged. "He did it before, in the future. He helped Regulus get the locket and when he failed to destroy it, he kept it safe and secret even from his mistress, despite it being displayed within Most Noble and Ancient House of Black. I may not like him much, but he has my respect. If you can think of a better way to steal one of the most prized possessions within Malfoy Manor without anybody even noticing it is gone then please, share it."

Moody huffed, crossing his arms over his chest, but said nothing. Regulus was looking at her with a sort of bemused awe.

"That's settled then," Hermione said with a satisfied smirk on her face. Things were looking up – saving Regulus had given her the perfect opportunity to gain access to the diary.

*-*-*-*-*

The unlikely threesome spent the next hour hashing out a plan. Regulus wrote multiple notes for Narcissa, Hermione and Moody eventually selecting one that they agreed had the right tone of genuine fear for his life and cautiously vague facts.

Once the note was ready, Hermione removed her beaded bag from the pocket of her jeans.

Despite the war having been over for more than a year, and spending most of that time in the safe haven of Hogwarts, Hermione had been unable to shake several of the habits she had picked up during the war. The most prominent being the grasping, incapacitating dread that consumed her when she didn't have her beaded bag on her person. Only behind the wards of Grimmauld Place had she felt secure enough to let the bag out of her sight. Now she was glad that she hadn't listened to Ron's taunting that she just 'get over it'.

From the depths of the bag, Hermione removed a small, blank notebook. She transfigured the cover to a black leather and hoped that it would be enough. She had never had the chance to really look at the diary during her second year.

“What is that?” Regulus asked when she laid the diary on the table in front of them.

“A copy of the diary that Kreacher will be sent to retrieve. I hope it is close enough that Malfoy won't notice the difference.”

Regulus scoffed. “Malfoy will know the second he gets within a few feet of it. I thought you had been around Horcruxes? Could you not _feel_ the dark magic from them? This is just a plain notebook.”

Hermione looked crestfallen at the criticism. “What do you mean? The locket made us depressed and angry when we wore it, but I didn't notice anything particularly evil about it. It was just a locket.”

“Just a locket?! What did they teach you in your time? Detecting dark objects is fifth year defence!”

Hermione chuckled wryly. “That would explain it, then. Although I think the curriculum might have changed a bit, I'll tell you about the disaster of my fifth year defence teacher later.” She indicated the fake diary on the table and continued. “How would you suggest we fix it, then?”

After much debate between Regulus and Moody, the diary had been infused with several dark spells that the men assured her made it feel incredibly dark. Finally they were ready for Kreacher to make the switch and Regulus called the elf.

“Master?” The foul little being croaked, looking uncertainly at the other occupants of the room before settling on Regulus with a look of devotion. “You is not being on the train. Young Master should be coming back from Hogwarts today. Why is you here with the nasty wizard?”

“Kreacher, I have learned a very dangerous secret. I need you to swear that you will keep my secrets, even from Mother. I am dead if anyone finds out.”

“Kreacher swears. Kreacher will not let a single person know anything that Master Regulus tells him. Kreacher will keep his master safe. Kreacher will die before letting harm come to his master.”

Regulus winced as he felt the elf's binding oath take hold of his magic. Swearing silence would have been enough; what Kreacher had sworn amounted to an unbreakable vow. The elf would now literally die if any action of his led to Regulus being harmed.

“Thank you, Kreacher. Your loyalty is greatly valued.” He put a hand on the old elf's shoulder, making his small body shiver with delight and the level devotion in his gaze to dramatically increase.

“I am not on the train because Hermione and Master Moody brought me here. If I had stayed on the train, the secret I know would have led to my death.” Kreacher gasped, his expression showing inappropriate levels of shock and fear.

“Kreacher, I learned that the Dark Lord has been using _soul magic_.”

The elf's expression grew impossibly more shocked and fearful at the statement. “But Master, that is being the blackest of magics. No proper pureblood wizards is being so foolish as to damage their souls!”

“Voldemort is no pureblood, Kreacher. He has lied to us, persuaded even the proud Houses of Black and Malfoy to grovel at his feet, yet he is but the filthy bastard son of a squib and a muggle.”

Hermione was looking at the elf with great concern. From his expression, she was certain that this shocking news would lead him to have either a stroke or a heart attack.

“Riddle has made several Horcruxes, Kreacher. We,” he indicated the three humans in the room, “are going to find them, destroy them and then kill the bastard. And we need your help.”

The old elf looked at his master with an expression of amazement, pride shining in his eyes. He stood straight, shoulders no longer stooped and bent, chin up and face set in determination. “Kreacher is being proud to be serving, Master Regulus. Kreacher is doing everything young master needs to kill the filthy mudblood that is being tricking the House of Black. Kreacher be happy to help, even nasty auror and mudblood girl if it be getting rid of evil soul magic.”

Hermione shuddered and ran a hand over the hidden scar on her arm at the word mudblood.

“Thank you, Kreacher. I am happy that you want to help. However, I would ask that you treat everyone in this room with respect. They have saved my life and deserve respect, no matter what my mother would say about them.”

Kreacher nodded seriously and the next hour was spent explaining Regulus' situation to the elf and making sure he understood clearly what his mission in Malfoy Manor would be. Once they were certain that Kreacher understood completely what he was to do, as well as how he was to behave around Narcissa (it took a long while for them to convince him that keeping Riddle's identity a secret was necessary for them to safely hunt the horcruxes and thus he could not say a word against him while in the presence of the Malfoys).

Hermione handed Kreacher the fake diary, which he hid within his loincloth with a grimace. Regulus passed him the note.

“Kreacher, I order you to take this note to Cissy. Say as little as possible and leave as soon as she has accepted it. You are to find the horcrux that Malfoy has hidden, switch it for the fake and return immediately. Only Narcissa is to see you in the Manor and only when you hand her the note. Do you understand your orders?”

Kreacher nodded solemnly and disappeared with a pop.

Hermione huffed. “Why did you order him like that? He had already agreed to do everything – there is no need to dominate him like that!”

Regulus looked at her shrewdly. “Hermione, how much do you know about House Elf Magic? The magic of the house elf bond is what sustains their life. This magic will ensure that an elf will follow his orders to the letter and such orders take precedence over almost any other magic. By ordering Kreacher, I have not only ensured he is not tempted to blow our cover and tell Cissy about Riddle, but I have ensured his access to the horcrux despite almost any wards Malfoy has to keep it safe. I have ensured that his magic will keep the other elves away. I let him decide to take the mission of his own free will, only then did I order him and doing so will keep both him and us safe from discovery.”

Hermione, House Elf Activist, looked very thoughtful at that revelation. Before she could further the discussion and start a debate on the subject, Kreacher appeared between Regulus and Moody with a loud pop. In his hand was a black diary.

 

 


	6. Moody's Grandniece

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

“It is being done, Master Regulus,” croaked the old elf. “Mistress Cissy be taking the note and I be leaving before she speaks. Nasty black book be being easy to find and nobody be seeing or stopping Kreacher from switching it with Master's bad book.”

Regulus stepped forward, taking the horcrux, and put a hand on his faithful elf's shoulder. “Thank you, Kreacher. You have done a great service to the House of Black.” The little elf beamed, looking up with utter devotion at his young master.

“Now, my dear elf, I have one final order for you today. I order you to return to my mother. When you leave here you will not remember that you did anything today beyond passing a note to Cissy. You will not remember any word spoken here today beyond my asking you to take the note. You will not remember any person being here today other than myself. You will not remember where I was when I called you.

“In five days you will alter the family tapestry to make me appear dead. You will not remember doing so and you will not remember that I am alive. You belong to me and will follow my orders first – no order of my mother's will make you remember anything. These orders stand before any other and can only be changed by myself. Do you understand?”

As Regulus spoke, Kreacher's proud smile broke and he crumpled, eyes welling with tears and ears sagging in misery. “Yes, master.” As he spoke, fat tears began rolling down his cheeks and dripping off the end of his nose. “Kreacher be leaving and forgetting, Master.”

“You are a loyal Elf, Kreacher. These orders will keep both you and me safe. I will remember your faithful service once this war is over. Until then, you must leave and forget. That is an order.”

Kreacher bowed his head, and with a mournful wail disappeared with a louder than usual pop.

Hermione turned to Regulus with a look of furious confusion. Before she could form the words she needed to express herself, Moody spoke. “Good thinking, lad.”

“Good thinking?! How is Merlin's name was that good thinking? It was cruel, that's what it was!”

“Hermione. Stop.” Moody held up his hand to silence her before she could build up a proper head of steam.

“It _is_ good thinking. Use your brain, girl! That elf is bound to follow orders given _by any member of the House of Black_. Do you understand? If Walburga asks then he _must_ answer. He can not keep a secret from his masters. If he was not Regulus' personal elf then we could not have risked calling him at all. As it is, only Regulus giving those orders to forget anything about us and our mission is keeping him from telling _any Black who asks_ what has happened today. Do you understand?”

As the old auror spoke, Hermione blanched at the understanding of just _how big_ a security leak Kreacher could have become. She looked down in shame and mumbled “sorry.”

Moody nodded an acknowledgement, then stamped his booted foot hard on the floor to re-focus the younger two on himself.

“Good. Now that is sorted I think we need to organize ourselves. Regulus, you need somewhere to live where you can't be found. Hermione, you need an identity that will integrate you into this time. Any ideas?”

“Fidelus” Hermione blurted, almost before Moody had finished speaking. “If you've got a suitable safehouse, we can hide it completely. Regulus and I can stay there and work on the Horcrux mission.”

Moody looked thoughtful. “Can you cast a fidelus? That's Dumbledore level magic.”

“What's a fidelus?” Asked Regulus before she could answer.

Doing her best to avoid slipping into lecture-mode, Hermione answered. “The fidelus charm is a very complex piece of magic, wherein a secret – a name, or location for example – is held within the soul of a single person. It is then completely impossible for any person to learn that secret without being expressly **and willingly** told by the secret keeper. Even Veritaserum and Legillimancy don't work to reveal the secret.”

She then turned to look Moody in the eye. “And yes, I have experience casting the fidelus charm.”

After the war, Harry had, in fact, _begged_ Hermione to learn the charm. He was utterly exhausted by his adoring fans and even though Black Manor was almost impossible to enter into without permission from the owner, there was a constant crowd of well-wishers and paparazzi gathering by the gate. It seemed that a few Order members who had become secret keepers upon Dumbledore's death had become rather loose-lipped in the aftermath of the war.

Not one to back down from a challenge – especially one that tested her academic prowess – Hermione had found the spell in one of the texts she had liberated from Dumbledore's office at the end of her sixth year. It was not, in fact, such a hard spell to cast as she had been led to believe. Magically, any reasonably powerful witch or wizard could cast it. The reason it most people couldn't was that it was _intellectually_ difficult, in that you had to have a complete understanding of the arithmancy, as well as how the spell components and accompanying runes worked. It was the perfect challenge for the _brightest witch of her age._

Moody looked suitable impressed at Hermione's casual admittance to being able to cast such a difficult spell. “Fidelus it is. I have a safe house Regulus can use – it's not much, but it'll do. You can be secret keeper.”

Hermione looked ready to protest but was once again silenced by a gesture from Moody. “No arguing. How long does it take to set up the charm?”

“I should be ready in a couple of days.”

“Right. Until then, we need Regulus here to disappear. I don't trust those Blacks not to scry with his blood, and the only place I have that is that safe is the shack we started off in. Sorry, lad, but I think we need to head back there now.”

Regulus grimaced. He was the Heir to the House of Black and the idea of spending a couple of days cooped up in that miserable shack was not something that excited him. He hoped that he wasn't expected to sleep on the floor – dying at the hands of inferi seemed almost preferable to that!

When they arrived moments later, Hermione did something that surprised both men. Once more digging into her beaded bag, she withdrew a small package and grinned smugly. A sharp swish of her wand and the package unfurled into a small tent. Regulus' mood instantly lightened and he proceeded through the canvas door to explore his temporary abode.

Moody didn't follow. He watched cautiously as Hermione walked the perimeter of the shack, waving her wand and muttering. Once she was finished, he raised a questioning eyebrow at the young girl. She blushed.

“Just our regular camping wards from the horcrux hunt,” she explained with a shrug. “They kept us safe for months, despite being Undesirable 1 and 2, so I figured it wouldn't hurt to add them here while Regulus is staying.”

Moody gave a short nod, but Hermione knew that he would be expecting a list of all the spells she used as soon as she had time to put quill to parchment. They followed after Regulus.

The tent was simple and not very big (by wizarding standards) but would prove more than adequate, and much more comfortable, for a couple of nights while Hermione prepared for the fidelus. There were two small bedrooms, each currently outfitted with a single bed. A shared bathroom lay between them. On the other side of the tent was a large open living space with a kitchenette at one end.

Regulus was currently occupying one of the sofas in the living space, his focus on the many bookshelves that decorated the wall. Hermione joined him while Moody satisfied his curiosity by poking his head into each room (and then all the kitchen cupboards).

“Not that I'm not grateful,” Regulus began, “but why in Merlin's name do you have a tent in your handbag?”

Hermione shrugged, blushing lightly before she muttered “constant vigilance?”

Moody guffawed.

-.-.-.-.-

Hermione had intended to stay with Regulus in the tent, however Moody was having none of it. He insisted that keeping a young, repentant Death Eater in hiding for the duration of the war was one thing. Doing the same to a girl whose only crime was idiocy was another. So, once satisfied that there was sufficient food to keep the Black scion happy until morning, he dragged Hermione back to his own home.

By the time they returned it was early evening and they went straight into the kitchen to prepare dinner. Hermione felt honoured when he pointed at a bowl of potatoes and grunted: “get scrubbing.” He trusted her enough to prepare food.

Over dinner, Moody informed her of his plan to integrate her into wizarding society. He had not long received news that his grandfather's brother's great-grandson had died childless and that he was the closest living relative to inherit the family property.

Apparently, Moody's father's cousin had emigrated to New Zealand at the turn of the century and the two branches of the Moody family had lost contact with one another. In fact, Moody was barely aware that he had cousins in New Zealand, and now that side of the family was all gone.

He decided that Hermione was to be his great-grandniece. After the tragic dragon pox epidemic that had claimed the rest of her family, she was left with no family and little money so, after finishing her final year of schooling, she had sought out her long lost uncle in the hope that he would help her get on her feet.

Fortunately for them, the British Ministry considered the people who lived in the colonies 'backwards' and so considered their school documentation worthless. If someone were to emigrate to the UK, they were required to go to the Ministry and take their OWLs or NEWTs in order to gain 'proper' accreditation to be considered for a job.

This worked well as a cover for Hermione's complete lack of school documents. Moody (or Great Uncle Alastor as he now insisted she call him) insisted that there would be no trouble arranging for her to sit her NEWTs alongside the homeschooled British students at the end of June.

Hermione was not impressed at having less than two weeks to revise all her books and remember any differences in the curriculum. She did _not_ want to risk her grades by mentioning any spell or theory that was not known of in the current time. With a sigh, she decided that at least it would be a good opportunity to get comfortable with the time difference in general before she had to meet anyone.

Her personal identification documents would be less easy to come by (legally, at least) but she was assured that it would be no trouble for his 'contacts' to arrange. Her new name would be Hermione Eglantine Moody, born 19th September 1959. She was less than pleased with her new middle name, but when she went to protest, Moody simply asked what was wrong with his mother's name and she meekly acquiesced.

-.-.-.-.-

The next week passed incredibly quickly for the bushy haired time traveller. She had spent most of the first two days keeping Regulus company in the tent while preparing to cast the fidelus. Fortunately, the Slytherin was more than happy to sit quietly and read while she carved out runes or calculated arithmantic formulae on scraps of parchment.

Once the spell had been successfully cast, the pair moved their studying into the living room of the small cottage safe house that Moody had donated for their base of operations. Hermione had a minor panic attack when she realised that there were only four days before her first four NEWT exams but had calmed considerably by the end of the day when her notes of _time-related curriculum changes_ covered barely eight inches of parchment. She had read all the course books cover to cover and there were very few differences she was not aware of as 'recent innovations'.

She spent three more days reading and re-reading the course books, practising spells and huffing at Regulus' teasing smirk. He couldn't believe someone could get so wound up about exams that they had _already passed_. Much as Harry had during their years at Hogwarts, Regulus made sure that the witch took occasional breaks from studying to eat and socialize.

Unlike Harry, he had the perfect excuse to guilt her into a relaxed conversation over a game of Chess. He simply pouted that he had nobody else to talk to and reminded her whose fault it was. Although she quickly retorted that if it were not for her he would probably be dead by now, she would still place a bookmark in her current tome and allow the distraction.

So, on the morning of June 29th, a nervous Hermione accompanied her Grand Uncle Alastor into the Ministry for the first of two gruelling days of examinations. Unlike at Hogwarts, where for the most part there was only one subject exam per day, the small number of people sitting the summer NEWT session allowed for four subjects to be tested each day. Today she had Charms, Herbology, Arithmancy and History of Magic. Tomorrow would be Transfiguration, Ancient Runes, Potions and Defence.

Moody dropped her at the Wizarding Examinations Authority offices, where she was introduced to Madam Marchbanks as his grandniece. He then left for the Auror headquarters with the promise to meet her at the end of the day.

-.-.-.-.-

Hermione was exhausted. She had just finished her last NEWT exam, the DADA practical, and she felt drained. There was a reason Hogwarts spread the exams out – she felt like she'd been run through a mangle and had the magic squeezed out of her. She probably shouldn't have shown off with her Patronus charm... using such high-level magic at the end of two days of casting every spell she should have learned over seven years of education was probably not the best idea.

As she was considering collapsing to the floor in exhaustion, Uncle Alastor appeared at the end of the corridor. He gave her one look before throwing the object he had been holding at her. Instinctively, she caught it. She may not have been a seeker, but she had trained with one. Looking at her prize she grinned in relief as she recognized a bottle of pepper-up.

Not being unaware that Uncle Alastor enjoyed testing her situational awareness at every opportunity, she carefully checked the contents of the phial before it went anywhere near her lips. Satisfied that it was the right colour, consistency and smell for pepper-up, she downed the potion and felt instantly better.

“Thank you, Uncle. I was feeling utterly spent.”

“You won't thank me later, lass. You'll be feeling twice as bad when that wears off.”

She grinned cheekily at the auror. “Oh, I know, but at least I have the energy to get home and collapse in a bed, rather than here in the corridor.”

“Old Selly was mighty impressed with you. Said you were the brightest witch she's seen in a very long time. Mentioned you showing off with patronus charms, too.”

Hermione blushed. She could hear the underlying pride in his tone and it made her heart swell. Somehow, in the last week, the cantankerous old man had become family. Changing the subject, she asked “Selly?”

“Madam Marchbanks. She was friends with my Mum.”

They continued onto the lifts in silence. As the golden grates opened on the left-hand lift, Hermione almost had a heart attack. There, lounging at the back of the lift, were two _very familiar_ faces. A much younger, _healthier_ Sirius Black was standing, head thrown back as his barking laughter echoed in the small space. At his side, a young man who could only be James Potter.

In less than half a second, Hermione slammed her Occlumency barriers up to the maximum. She would pay for the extra magical exertion when the pepper-up potion wore off, but she could ill afford to break down now. The sight of James Potter, looking _so much_ like **her Harry** was ripping her heart in two. Suddenly, after a very busy week, the fact that she had left her time hit her like the speeding Hogwarts Express. She would never see _her Harry_ again.

She was barely aware of being guided into the lift, of the two boys trying desperately to gain her uncle's favour. She ignored Sirius' easy flirtation and simply rested against the wall, eyes closed, fighting her emotions.

James had looked concerned at her behaviour, but had quickly backed off with a rather impressed look when Moody had explained that “the poor lass has just sat eight NEWTs in two days”.

Once they reached the apparition point, she barely reacted to his firm grip on her arm as she was side-along apparated home. As soon as she saw the familiar surroundings of the home she now shared with her Uncle Alastor, Hermione let go of her Occlumency and collapsed into a puddle of agony on the floor as her heart broke for the friends and family she had lost forever.


	7. Living Ghosts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer - I don't own Harry Potter

 

Hermione didn't know how long she cried. Her heart ached for the brother who would not even be born for another year. For her other friends who would never know her.  _This_ her.

She had been stranded in time for a little over a week and it seemed like her mind had finally caught up with the fact that she was all alone in a world populated by ghosts. And so she cried. She cried until the gasping sobs became snuffles and whimpers. She cried until her nose ran and her eyes swelled. Eventually, she cried herself to sleep.

The next morning, the young animagus awoke in her bed with no recollection of how she got there. She was still dressed in the clothes she had worn to the Ministry yesterday, wrapped in the old quilt that usually decorated the back of the wingback chair in the corner of her room.

Her room. It felt strange to call it that, and yet it had become her sanctuary in this time. Once they had decided on her cover as his niece, Moody had insisted that she have proper furnishings in her room. Up to that point, the room had remained as empty as it had been that first time she woke up in it (Hermione had kept all her belongings tidied away in her beaded bag) but Uncle Alastor had put his foot down. Apparently, it would look bad if anyone saw her total lack of possessions and less than spartan furniture.

So a large chest and several bookcases, as well as the chair and an assortment of soft furnishings, had been removed from storage in the attic. She rather liked the way it had turned out. The curtains were a little chintzy for her taste, but they provided a comforting reminder of her childhood home.

This morning, that comforting reminder was more of a heart-rending mockery of all she would never again have. The barely-healed wound on her heart from the loss of her parents had been ripped open once more and the loss of  _her_  Harry was rubbing a great big vat of salt into it.

Before she could be overwhelmed by her emotions once again, she abandoned her Gryffindor courage and hid. Under the worn quilt. Curled up as a thoroughly miserable cat.

-.-.-.-.-

She dozed in cat form for a couple more hours. She would probably have slept away the day, but by mid-morning Uncle Alastor had decided she was done moping. He stomped into her room and wore a (very) brief expression of confusion at the lack of miserable girl. Then he whipped the blanket off the bushy-furred tabby.

"I'd forgotten you could do that," he grunted at the cat. "Just don't forget you're unregistered and it's currently safer to stay that way."

Her surprise at the fact that Moody had forgotten such a tactically important piece of information about her had Hermione pulling her nose out from under her paw and cocking her head at him before she realised that she was supposed to be hiding from the world.

"Enough wallowing for today, Lass."

The cat simply stared with a baleful expression before turning to tuck her nose back under her tail.

"Hermione, enough! I know you've lost people. I know it hurts, but now it's time to suck it up and get back to work."

In an instant the curly-haired witch was back on the bed, her eyes alight with fury. "Suck it up? When you've lost everyone you ever loved and woken up surrounded by ghosts, then you can talk about sucking it up!"

The old auror was completely unfazed by her outburst. Before she could build up a head of steam and begin what promised to be a lengthy rant, he cut her off.

"Don't you know how lucky you are, Lass? You may have lost everyone, yes, but they  **are not dead**. These ghosts you are complaining about are  **alive**. You have  _already_  saved one foolish boy from inferi. So  **suck it up and get back to work**!"

Hermione stared, stunned, at her adopted uncle. The raw emotion he had conveyed without once raising his voice had been the shock her system needed to remind her of her resolve. Even before she introduced herself to Moody when she first appeared in this time the young witch had determined that she would do her damndest to stop the Wizarding World from imploding. She had just temporarily forgotten it.

Hermione Granger was a soldier. She had been given no choice in the matter. From the troll encounter in her first year at Hogwarts, she had been set on the path. After her sixth year, while on the run with Harry and Ron, she had learned the most important thing about being a soldier.

Focus. Keep busy. Don't allow your emotions to get the better of you.

They had rarely had more than a few minutes, sometimes an hour or two of safety, in which to truly let their emotions out. Even then, she had always been conscious of her mission. Aware that if she gave up, the war would be lost. She knew how to use her occlumency and keep herself focused, even when all hope seemed lost.

She had let that guard down. A year of peace and security at Hogwarts and she had forgotten. She flushed at the thought of her selfish wallowing. To think that she'd lost sight of her mission already was plain embarrassing.

Eyes lowered and cheeks stained red, Hermione spoke in a much calmer voice. "Thank you, Uncle. I let myself get carried away. You taught me better – let it out then suck it up. I think I'm ready to get back to work."

"Good girl. Suppressing your emotions isn't healthy, but wallowing is just as bad."

Hermione rose with a cat-like stretch and preceded her mentor to the door. Shoulders back and a confident, focused expression on her face she could barely be recognised as the same girl that had been curled up in misery that morning.

With a cheeky smirk, she turned and called to the old auror."Come on, Uncle, we've a war to win!"

-.-.-.-.-

Guilt was not a feeling that Hermione Granger was unfamiliar with. Unfortunately, it was one with which she was reacquainted as she ate the late breakfast Moody had insisted they have before any battles were fought. She had picked up that morning's  _Prophet_  and the headline made her eggs curdle in her stomach.

_**Missing Black Heir Declared Dead.** _

_Regulus Black, Heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, has today been confirmed as deceased. The newly graduated wizard disappeared on his way home from his last term at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry ten days ago. He was last seen leaving the castle and is thought to have boarded the Hogwarts Express with his Slytherin classmates, though he was not seen getting off at Platform 9 ¾._

_On the day that he disappeared, young Regulus managed to send a message to his cousin, Narcissa Malfoy nee Black, which implied that he was running and in fear for his life. Not a week later, the Black family has confirmed that their enchanted tapestry has recorded a death date for the young wizard. As you probably already know, family tapestries are tied to the blood of each member of the House and as such are legally recognised recordings of births and deaths..._

Hermione stopped reading at that point. She could guess that the rest of the article would be speculating how and why Regulus died, and most probably starting a few outrageous rumours in the process. She would read it properly later when her head wasn't swimming with guilt.

All that time she had spent wallowing in her pain, she had forgotten Regulus. The last week had been focused almost completely on revising and then taking her NEWTs, and while most of that time had been spent in the company of the Slytherin wizard they had both been purposely ignoring the reason for his seclusion. The  _Prophet_  had forcefully reminded her of the fact that she wasn't the only person to have recently lost everyone.

-.-.-.-.-

After breakfast, Hermione and Moody made their way over to Regulus' safehouse. The younger wizard greeted them enthusiastically and Hermione's guilty feelings doubled at the realization that he had been all alone for the past two days while she was at the Ministry sitting her exams.

The jovial atmosphere quickly soured as Moody passed him the paper. Confirmation that Kreacher fulfilled his orders and adjusted the tapestry made his total separation from the rest of the world suddenly become real. His Slytherin mask cracked minutely, but it was enough for Hermione to notice. She restrained herself, knowing that the reserved young man was unlikely to appreciate what Ron had dubbed the 'Hermy-Hug', and showed her support with a hand on his shoulder and her silent understanding.

Moody didn't stay long. Miserable atmosphere notwithstanding, he was expected at the Ministry after lunch.

-.-.-.-.-

They sat in silence for a few more minutes before Hermione spoke. "I know it sucks, being alone. I've lost everyone I ever loved. You might as well have lost them too, since they think you are dead. But really we are lucky, because we might just be the only two people ever to have lost everyone without  _actually_  losing them.

"They are  **all alive**. Maybe not how I remember them. Maybe not remembering you as you really are. But alive! It hurts now, but one day – when we have destroyed all the Horcruxes and Riddle is nothing more than a stain on the carpet –  _one day_  you won't have to hide anymore. You'll get them all back. So enough moping – we've got a war to win!"

Regulus raised a single, incredulous eyebrow at her speech. Hermione blushed scarlet.

"Ok, so Uncle Alastor might have had to drag me out of bed and scold me to get me to stop hiding. Literally – I spent most of this morning as a cat."

Regulus smirked at this confession. Where his eyes had dulled upon reading his obituary, they now shone a little brighter. He was no longer closing himself off to the world and Hermione didn't care if it was the motivational speech or the image of Moody telling off a cat that did it. She wasn't going to let him fall.

-.-.-.-.-

Hermione spent the next couple of weeks almost exclusively at Regulus' safe house. The small living room of the cottage had been redecorated – along one wall was a timeline of events as Hermione remembered them. Two bold lines divided the wall horizontally into three sections, and each third was further divided into ten boxes – one for each month covering the next two and a half years. Each box was liberally decorated with colour-coded pieces of parchment noting important events, births, deaths and anything else that Hermione thought might be relevant.

Regulus had ranted for almost an hour when he discovered the fate that awaited Sirius. They might not like each other much at this point in their lives, but Regulus had always loved his brother and the idea that he would spend a decade in Azkaban despite being  _innocent_  had invoked the infamous Black temper. When he finally ran out of expletives, he locked eyes with Hermione and calmly stated that they were going to  _fix it._

The wall opposite Hermione's timeline was covered with all the information they had on the horcruxes. What they were, where they were hidden and how they had been retrieved in the future. Underneath the information about the diary was a bold notation:  **collected 22** **nd** **June**. The evil little book was currently being stored in a highly warded safe in Moody's  _interrogation shack_  until they could decide how best to destroy it.

The trio were fairly confident that getting the diadem would be a simple matter of visiting Hogwarts (preferably when the Headmaster was away) and so much of the last fortnight had been spent focusing on how they would retrieve the locket. Although she had not been there, whilst they were on the run Hermione had convinced Harry to give her a detailed account of what had occurred in the cave. She hadn't wanted to be unprepared for any protections they might encounter when recovering the rest of the horcruxes.

Hermione and Regulus had spent many hours debating the two major issues in the mission – how to get more than one person onto the island when the only way they knew to get across would allow only a single adult, and how to get the potion out of the basin without drinking it. So far, they had made very little progress.

It was yet another of these discussions that was interrupted by Moody on the afternoon of the 14th. Hermione and Regulus were so engrossed in their argument (Regulus was adamant they could just fly across the lake, while Hermione was equally sure that doing so would trigger something unpleasant) that neither noticed the floo activating. It wasn't until he shouted  _CONSTANT VIGILANCE_  three inches from Hermione's ear that they even realised they had company.

Hermione narrowed her chocolate eyes at her adopted uncle and silently swore vengeance. "Uncle Alastor, to what do we owe the  _pleasure?"_

Though her words were polite, her gritted teeth and the somewhat frosty tone made it abundantly clear how much she appreciated the assault on her eardrums.

Her answer came in the form of a thick parchment envelope that was slapped onto the coffee table in front of her. She recognised the Ministry seal and with a sudden jolt, she realised that it must be her NEWT results. Butterflies swarmed in her belly as her nerves thrilled through her body. She couldn't prevent the slight shake in her hand as she reached for the letter.

Regulus' grey eyes sparkled with amusement. He would be mocking her for  _months_  about this. She was acting like a mediocre Hufflepuff afraid to discover how many As they had, not the genius Gryffindor he knew her to be.

Of course, Regulus was right. Hermione passed with straight Os and was the only one of the three who seemed surprised at the fact.

While the youngsters were focused on the exam results, Moody had been admiring the wall art. He had spent most of the last two weeks inundated with paperwork in preparation for the new intake of the Auror academy that would be starting in August, and so had not had a chance to see what Hermione and Regulus had spent their days doing.

As an auror, he was impressed (though not surprised) with the thorough and methodical way the information had been presented. He knew he would need to spend a good number of hours properly going over all the details, but that would have to wait until he could take a day away from the office.

Noticing that the excited chatter had quieted, Moody turned back to the expectant gaze of his young charges. "Nice work," he acknowledged with a wave at the two walls, "you've obviously put a lot of work in."

The young witch and wizard preened at his praise.

"Which is why I am giving you both a day off. Tomorrow."

It took a little effort for the old auror not to show his amusement at their completely baffled expressions.

"All work and no play makes Merlin a dull wizard after all," he continued, eyes twinkling and the faintest hint of a smirk on his lips.

"What do you mean a day off?" Hermione demanded, eyes gleaming with a look of stubborn refusal.

"Just what I said." He turned his focus to Regulus. "You, young man, are to spend the day outside."

Regulus scowled but remained defiantly silent. Moody noticed the way his eyes flickered to the bookcases that covered the third wall of the room. With a smug wave of his wand, he warded them with an invisible barrier that would prevent the sneaky little Slytherin from doing anything constructive.

Before the younger man could protest, Moody removed a small parcel from his pocket and enlarged it. A stack of magazines landed with a thud on the coffee table and Regulus blushed scarlet when he recognized the cover for  _Playwizard_  on the top of the stack.

While Regulus was still sputtering over the stack of dirty magazines, Moody enlarged a second parcel. It was suspiciously broom-shaped. With a wink he handed it over. "A little incentive to actually do as you are told. The wards go all the way to the boundary hedge, but make sure you don't fly past them."

Regulus' whole face lit up with a grin. It had been far too long since he'd last been on a broom. His mother had insisted he was not allowed to take his  _Comet_  to school this year for fear that he would be distracted from gaining the perfect NEWT results she demanded of him.

Hermione, who had been eyeing the stack of magazines with disgust, looked even less pleased at sight of the broom. "I hope you don't expect  _me_  to fly."

"Of course not, lass. You're coming with me. Young James Potter is getting married tomorrow and I've got a plus one on my invitation!"


	8. Pre-Wedding Jitters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the long haitus. My computer died and I lost a lot of work, my muse went and hid under a rock and then I got sucked into another fandom... Excuses, I know. I am trying to be a better writer now and will try to make at least semi-regular updates once I've got my brain back into the story.
> 
> It's a short update, but better than nothing, no?

Hermione had attempted to protest. The idea of attending the Potter wedding –  _ Harry's parents' wedding –  _ made her feel sick. She wasn't sure she was mentally prepared to spend a day surrounded by her ghosts. She certainly didn't  _ want _ to.

Unfortunately, Moody thought it something of a joke. He made a few inappropriate comments, declared that he couldn't wait to see their faces when he turned up with a date (he was certain they thought the plus one on his rsvp was in error), before dragging her back through the floo.

Despite all her objections when they got home, she found herself being bullied back through the floo into the Leaky Cauldron, forcefully guided down Diagon Alley and thrust through the doors of Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, where the (much younger) Madam Malkin was given strict instructions to outfit her in dress robes 'suitable for a wedding'. Moody had then dropped a hefty bag of gold into Hermione's hand and stomped off back to the Ministry. The stern look that the seamstress levelled in her direction made the bushy haired witch abandon all thoughts of running back home.

-.-.-.-.-

There had been too few occasions so far in Hermione's life that required her to get properly dressed up. The Yule Ball in her fourth year, Bill and Fleur's wedding and the Anniversary Ball – celebrating a year since the final battle and Voldemort's defeat – were the only three that she had attended in the magical world (and she had been  _ very  _ reluctanty dragged along to the last of those). So, despite the fact she would rather be going anywhere  _ but _ James and Lily's wedding, she found herself rather enjoying the process of putting on her beautiful new dress robes and the fancy hair and make-up that they demanded.

Unfortunately, with half an hour before their designated portkey would depart, Hermione was at the 'finishing touches' stage of getting ready – which really meant she had enough time to fret over the fact that she had never devoted any time to learning more than the very basics about wizarding hair and beauty charms and worry about what she _had_ managed to do to her hair, without having the time to change anything and still be certain of being presentable when the portkey left.

She was rescued from a rather ridiculously in depth over-thinking of whether her choice in eye shadow _truly_ matched the dress robes she was wearing, when Uncle Alastor called her down to wait with him in the parlour.

Sick with nerves, Hermione was unsure whether they were due to her own feelings of inadequacy or the fact that she would soon be faced with a room full of people her heart still believed to be dead. Slowly, she made her way down the stairs, her hands constantly attempting to brush non-existant wrinkles from the Tyrian purple silk of her robes.

“Hermione, Lass, you are a vision of beauty,” greeted Moody gruffly.

She accepted the compliment with surprised grace, and almost managed to convince herself she caught a glint of wetness in the corner of his eye as he looked up at her with pride. She wasn't entirely sure she agreed with the 'vision of beauty' description, but now that she had stopped over thinking she was once more rather happy with the way she looked.

The riotous curls of her youth had tamed somewhat. It was no longer an uncontrollable frothing hoarde attacking her head; in fact her bushy locks now fell in a thick mass of loose ringlets with minimal effort and no need for pints of sleekeazy's. Unlike her preparations for the Yule Ball in fourth year, without the stress of fighing a losing battle for control (both against her hair and her dorm mates) the young animagus had affected a glamourous looking up-do with little more than a loose bun and a couple of crystal hair clips holding it in place with a temporary sticking charm.

Her dress robes had been a struggle to find. Madam Malkin had, at first, insisted she try a short sleeved number with a fairly low neckline that was 'just the style for a modern young lady'. She was completely unwilling to listen to Hermione's objections until the younger girl exited the changing room. Hermione thought the sweetheart shape of the neck cut too low regardless of the fact the it exposed the end of the curse scar that Dolohov gave her in the Department of Mysteries. It started between her breasts and bisected her ribs; a thick, dark purple line that lay like an unnatural rope against her alabaster skin.

Madam Malkin had barely noticed the scar peeking out from her clevage. Her focus was entirely consumed by the deep red carvings exposed on her right arm. The rest of the options were chosen with a pitying look as the seamstress resolved to cover the scars.

Funnily enough, the purple robes that the young animagus had fallen in love with were very much styled with a younger lady in mind. It had cap sleeves and a sweeping neckline that exposed only the barest hint of her chest. The bodice was decorated with an intricate design of dark violet crystals, her waist accentuated with a satin belt that tied in a decorative bow at the back. The skirt was long and floaty.

She hadn't understood why Madam Malkin insisted she try these robes – there was no way she was going to a wedding with bare arms – until the seamstress brought out the most gorgeous pair of fingerless gloves for her to try. If she was going to be pedantic, they probably weren't really gloves since they only covered the back of her hands.The pewter silk clung to her forearms perfectly, ending in a sequinned lace triangle that was held in place by a loop around her middle finger. They were perfect.

The outfit was finished off with a lovely pair of court shoes in a perfectly matching shade of pewter.

Turning her attention back to the man she was coming to love as if he really were her uncle, Hermione accepted the hand he offered to help her down the last couple of steps. A brief glance at the clock above the mantle told her they still had ten minutes before the invitation portkey would activate.

He hooked her hand into the crook of her elbow and guided her into the parlour. There, beside their invitation, was a long, narrow box which Moody presented to her with a gruff bow. “It belonged to your grandmother.”

She carefully lifted the lid off the box and revealed a delicate choker seemed to be made of fine lace crafted in silver and diamonds. Reflexively, she tried to hand it back.

“Uncle Alastor, it is too much!”

“No, Lass. It is just enough. I've taken you for my family and by rights it belongs to you.”

She couldn't bring herself to argue, too choked up with emotion, so she stood motionless as he fastened it around her neck. When he was done, she gave him a watery smile and a peck on the cheek.

On the coffee table, the invitation began to glow and the sweet moment was broken as they both took an end of the parchment and prepared themselves for portkey travel.

 

**Author's Note:**

> A/N - I hope you liked it! Please review and let me know what you think! I don't have a Beta yet, so feel free to point out any spelling mistakes or typos, too :)


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